Well, That Happened
by HorkBajir99
Summary: (Inspired by the TFBW character sheets.) It's taken several years, but one of the boys is finally ready to reveal that he's not actually a boy. And of course this kickstarts a lot of bonding, celebration, new experiences, occasional drama, and a relationship that no one could have dreamed would happen. (Rated T just to be safe.)
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One_

"I'm nonbinary."

It was just two simple words. Just two simple words. That's all he had to say.

"I'm nonbinary."

Or maybe not. Maybe he should make it more vague? Or maybe more simple? He wasn't sure. His thoughts were swirling too closely for him to tell WHAT he wanted.

"I'm—genderqueer? No—shit, okay, um—"

He paused for a moment, inhaling deeply, as if oxygen would be any help in calming his rapidly-increasing heartrate.

"I'm…gender neutral. Nonbinary. Gender—my gender—dammit, I don't even know what my gender is—URGH!"

Words weren't working in his favor right now. He let his head fall and his eyes slide shut, trying, even for a second, to reorganize his brain. He didn't have time for this stupid indecisiveness, dammit. The guys would be there any minute now, and he had to get this right at LEAST once before he inevitably screwed himself over in front of them.

Anxiously, he ran his hands through his ever-messier crop of hair as his eyes rose to his mirror again. At least he looked decent enough today. He looked significantly less tired than he felt, which was always a plus, and his makeup looked on point. Wait—no, on closer inspection, his mascara had smudged up onto his eyelids a bit, and he hurriedly began scrubbing it away with one finger.

"Dammit," he muttered, sending his reflection the harshest glare he could manage. "It's not that hard. It's just a couple of words. And they're your friends, for crying out loud. We've known each other since preschool, it's not like anything's gonna change just because I'm telling them this—"

But it could, the back of his mind whispered. It could go so horribly wrong. They could leave. They could ditch him, they could leave him, they could preach at him, anything could happen—

"No," he snapped—partly to himself, partly to his imagined images of his disgusted friends. "No. Shut up. I won't let them—well, I'll let them—but at least I won't let them be assholes about it. If there's anything I'm not, it's their doormat."

With renewed courage, he leaned closer to the slightly dirtied mirror, sincerely hoping that the strange expression his face was making could be interpreted as bravery, and tried again.

"I'm—"

"Hey, dude, we're here! Come down, we've gotta get started before Cartman shits himself."

"Ay! Don't be an asshole just because Wendy broke up with you!"

"We didn't break up! How many times do I have to tell you—"

Well. He'd been planning this for weeks now, contemplating, considering, trying to make plans for every route the conversation could go, and now his inevitable fate (whatever that was) had arrived. He wasn't prepared, necessarily, but he was ready.

By God, he was so, so ready.

"I'm nonbinary," he mumbled under his breath, just as reassurance.

And with that, Kyle shoved his hat back over his unruly mop of hair and exited the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

"Finally, dude," Stan said over his shoulder as Kyle descended into the living room. "What took you so long?"

"Had to take a piss," he replied, tugging the flaps of his hat one last time as he approached the couch. Stan had already made himself comfortable, and was customizing his avatar in preparation for the upcoming game. Which, Kyle noted, he had taken the liberty of setting up on his own.

Kenny was sprawled out on the floor almost directly in front of the television screen, watching idly as Stan scrolled through various eye colors and accessories, apparently burnt out from the school day. That was understandable. He'd downed about six energy drinks that morning (where he'd gotten that many was anyone's guess) and it appeared their influence was wearing off.

And then there was Cartman.

Although Kyle hated to admit it, Cartman's potential reactions unsettled him the most. He didn't know quite where Cartman stood on transgender issues, although he was willing to bet he was against them due to his escapades in the fourth grade. Granted, he'd been all for it when Tweek and Craig became a thing, but Kyle wasn't entirely sure how that would affect the current issue. Just because he was okay with them didn't mean he'd be okay with this.

Especially considering that this was Kyle, his primary rival, emerging from the closet.

By the time Kyle had shook himself out of that train of thought, the fatass in question had seated himself on the couch beside Stan, an open bag of chips in one hand and a fistful of them in the other. Great. His mom would probably be pissed about the mess.

"So, you got it set up?" he asked, seating himself on the floor next to Kenny.

"Yeah," Stan replied. "We agreed I get to play the first level. Apparently you have to unlock multiplayer."

"Shit, seriously?"

"Yeah. It's one of those games where you have to clear a bunch of stages before multiplayer's available."

"That's bullshit," Kenny mumbled into the carpet.

"It's a game, Kenny," Cartman mumbled through a mouthful of chips. "Game designer's jobs are to screw people over, that's what they do."

Immediately a million comebacks swarmed through Kyle's head, and maybe, if his mouth would have obeyed, he would have spouted one. But at the moment his throat had decided to choke up and render him incapable of saying anything.

Get a grip, Kyle, he muttered inwardly. You need to get a grip by the end of tonight.

* * *

"What time is it?"

"Who cares?"

"I care, fatass. I need to be home by ten."

He could do this. How hard could it be? He'd at least acclimated to the stress by now. His stomach wasn't churning—well, that was an exaggeration. His stomach was churning LESS.

"It's like—I dunno, quarter to nine?"

Shit.

"Aw, shit, I need to go," Stan said, almost immediately rising from the couch and chucking the game controller behind him. "My parents are taking us somewhere tomorrow."

"I should probably go too," came Kenny's voice from somewhere in the couch cushions. About halfway through the night he'd made a spectacular win with only one or two health left and six seconds on the clock, and in celebration he'd gone sprinting around the room in blind self-gratification. The result was a faceplant into the couch, where he'd stayed for the remainder of the night. Possibly because he'd passed out. Honestly, no one was sure.

"Augh, fine," Cartman grunted. As he rose, the bag of chips resting on his lap went tumbling to the carpet, and he made no move to clean it up. "I was getting bored anyway. Who cares."

"I'm nonbinary."

…dammit.

In all honestly, it was a lot easier than he'd thought it would be. The moment he let his guard down, the moment he got comfortable, the thought of his opportunity leaving sent those two words flying free without any caution. Unfortunately, the minute they left his brain his train of thought became nothing but a stream of unintelligible curses.

Dammit why'd he do that why'd he do that why'd he do that why the HELL did he do that-

Hurriedly he analyzed his friends' expressions. Stan looked fairly shell-shocked, which made total sense, but he wasn't sure what emotion backed that shock. Was it good shock or bad shock? It was impossible to tell, and his stomach churned in sudden nervousness.

Kenny—once he'd emerged from the couch, Kenny's expression looked similar to Stan's. However, his expression quickly melted into a wide, shit-eating grin. That was certainly better, if a bit off-putting. But then memories of Princess Kenny returned to him, and his nervousness faded. That was genuine excitement he was seeing, thank God.

But Cartman—

The expression on Cartman's face was one Kyle had never seen before in his life. He looked—frozen. His eyes were wide, expression uninterpretable, and sudden fear returned to him full force.

Was he running through a list of plans to turn this information against him? Was he disgusted? Had Kyle…had Kyle BROKEN him somehow?

"Dude."

It seemed that was all Stan was capable of uttering. He seemed to have launched into a state of complete confusion, mouth gaping like a fish, staring Kyle up and down as if he'd never seen him before.

"DUDE."

"Yeah, okay, I know," Kyle hurriedly backtracked, raising his hands as if that would do any good in protecting himself. "I know that's kind of—out of the blue, but I didn't want to go off to college and not have told you—"

"YES!"

Immediately he had been engulfed in a hug. For a minute he couldn't process it, instead trying to get air back into his lungs, but after a moment he pulled away and Kenny's gleeful face was inches from his own.

"I KNEW it!" he cried, grasping the Jewish boy by the shoulders. "I KNEW there was something!"

"But you—I—how did—what—?" Stan rambled hopelessly in the background, hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair. "Dude, you—WHAT?"

"I KNEW there was something different about you!" Kenny continued squealing. "Congrats, dude!"

"Wait, you—you did? How did you—"

"I know anatomy, dude," the boy responded, a devious glint entering his eye. "As in, ALL anatomy."

"That's a little—creepy, but okay?"

"At first I thought you were just naturally really skinny or something, but-****, this is great!" His hands released Kyle's shoulders only to grasp his face, squishing his lips rather uncomfortably. Barely pausing for breath, he peered into his friend's face. "And are you—you are! You ARE wearing makeup! I KNEW it! Nobody's skin gets that perfect that fast!"

Despite himself, Kyle found himself grinning at Kenny's eagerness, and he laughed a bit. "So you noticed that, huh?"

"Of course! And by the way, teach me sometime, that's the best makeup I've seen in ages, you've got skill—"

"Wait, hang on, hang on—"

Kenny's stream of unfiltered joy stopped, and as it did Stan stepped forward, massaging his temples. Kyle found that his throat was suddenly very dry.

"So—" he said, as his eyes rose to meet his friend's, "—you're—you're not a boy?"

"I mean…yeah, that's accurate."

For a moment Stan said nothing. Kyle could almost see the gears turning in his head, and although he wasn't necessarily afraid anymore, he was certainly nervous. He wasn't entirely sure where Stan stood when it came to this. He'd never even heard him talk about trans people—the topic didn't exactly pop up in conversation often.

"I—okay," he said at last. "Okay. I mean—so—how long have you known you were—"

"Almost forever," Kyle answered. "Since, like, around first grade, I think. I never really cared how people saw me, gender-wise, but I didn't know there was a word for it until then. And everyone thought I was a boy, anyway, so I didn't really see the need to tell anyone."

"But we—" for a moment, Stan seemed to be struggling to find the right words, "—I mean, I get it if you weren't ready to tell anyone, I just—"

After a minute, he stopped trying to form whatever thought he had, and let his arms drop uselessly to his sides. "I mean, it's cool and everything, I just…need to process this. You know?"

At this, Kyle felt his adrenalin rush start to recede. Although that wasn't exactly optimal, it was the best he could have expected from him. Stan did handle things…not as well as other people. He could use some time to process. That was okay.

"Yeah," he said, his smile returning. "I know. That's okay. I realize this is, um…kind of a lot."

It took a moment, but Stan's expression softened. He didn't smile, but his face relaxed, and Kyle took this as a good omen.

Now that that was somewhat resolved, Kenny launched back into gushing congratulations and positivity, and although Kyle absorbed some of it, most of it blended together into a stream of emotion that he registered, but didn't fully comprehend. Now that these two had more or less confirmed that they weren't going to mock or abandon him, his thoughts shot to the only person who hadn't yet spoken.

Why was Cartman so uncharacteristically quiet?

It wasn't until he felt the slight gust of cold air and managed to turn Kenny so he was facing the majority of the room that he could see why. The door hung open, and small amounts of snow were being blown in by the evening wind.

Cartman had gone.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

"We're throwing you a party!"

"Okay, yeah, you've said that. But why though?"

"Because, dude!" Kenny said, in a voice that seemed a little overenthusiastic. "You said you were planning on coming out to more people. I thought a gender reveal party would be fun!"

This hadn't been what Kyle was expecting from a midnight phone call. He'd thought maybe it'd be Stan again, asking for clarification or confirmation about anything from pronouns to whether he preferred a different name. That'd been the pattern all week, at any rate. But Kenny calling out of the blue to propose a party was a little out there.

"I dunno, man," he mused, shifting to lay back more comfortable position on his mattress. "That's a lot of work. And it'd be the not-so-nice way to find out who the transphobes are."

"Forget work. I'd organize the whole thing," came the staticky reply. "With your input, obviously. And we could make it a smaller thing, if you don't want a shitload of people showing up."

"I mean, I'm not saying it wouldn't be fun," Kyle quickly established. "It could be pretty cool. I just don't want people to think I'm shoving it in their faces. This is more of a 'just so you know' kind of thing for me."

"That's why I'm saying we could make it small." A small ripple of white noise drowned out his next few words, but after a moment it returned. "—alloons, music—oh yeah, what pride flag do you like? I know there's the trans one, but there's also the nonbinary one—do you care either way?"

"Why're you asking?"

"Color scheme. Duh."

"Well—" For a moment, Kyle had to consider. "I'm kind of partial to both. I like the nonbinary one 'cause it's more specific to me, but people know the trans flag better. They're both cool."

"Good to know," Kenny replied. "That gives me a lot of colors to work with—I mean, if you wanna do this," he hurriedly interrupted himself.

For a moment, Kyle was silent.

It would be fun, he'd admit that. For the longest time he'd only had the Internet and his family to talk about this with. Those had both been interesting experiences—the generally supportive tone of the Internet sharply contrasted with his mother's earlier attempts to "cleanse" him. Thank God she gave up on that.

If he was being honest? He needed to talk about it. Talking to Stan and Kenny was one thing, but being able to be fully out there? To be himself, unashamed? That was pretty damn appealing.

Besides, there was a skirt he'd found on Amazon he'd wanted for a while.

"Dude?" came Kenny's voice through the receiver, gently pulling him back to reality. "What do you think?"

Eh, what the hell. This could be fun.

"You know what? Sure. Why the **** not. This could be cool."

The moment he spoke, he had to hurriedly pull the phone away from his ear in order to save himself from the sharp squeal he got in reply. He couldn't help but smirk at that—Kenny seemed even more excited about this than he did.

Why was that, he wondered?

* * *

This was—a step. Not sure if it was a step forwards or a step back, but it was definitely a step.

Kyle couldn't help but get a little nervous as he approached the bus stop. He knew his friends would know WHY he'd gone this route today, but he still wouldn't be surprised if some staring happened. Not to mention everyone at school would be very, very confused, and maybe a little concerned.

He was wearing leggings.

Specifically, a pair of gray leggings with knit patterns and a few buttons near the ankles. They were comfortable as hell, and they flattered his figure, but he usually only wore them at home like sweatpants. For once he was grateful that his coat was a little too big. At least it would cover up his ass.

He had no idea why he'd decided to do this. He hadn't ever worn something so overtly—well—feminine in public before. Makeup was one thing—most people never even noticed he wore it on occasion. But for whatever reason, he'd spied these leggings hanging out of his dresser that morning and his whole mind had went "why the hell not".

At last, he reached the bus stop. Everyone was already there, shivering a bit, idly staring at either nothing or their phones. They didn't seem to notice his presence—understandable, it was Monday—until he took his place standing in between Stan and Cartman and threw out a "Hey, guys."

"Hey, du—whoa, dude!"

Stan's attention had shot to Kyle in an instant. Almost immediately, Kenny's head peeked out from behind Cartman to see what had attracted Stan's interest, and he immediately grinned and flashed two thumbs-up. And Cartman—

Cartman was ignoring him. Of course. Why would he expect anything less.

Ever since he'd come out to them all a week or so ago, Cartman had been acting uncharacteristically strange. Kyle had expected either endless insults or some kind of elaborate scheme to humiliate him, but much to his surprise the fatass had just been—ignoring him. He seemed to be off in his own world almost constantly, never speaking a word to him in the mornings and heading straight home in the evenings without so much as a glance. And throughout all this, his expression was infuriatingly unreadable.

Dammit, just do what you're going to do already, he hissed internally. The suspense is gonna kill me. Just get it over with.

"Where'd you—how long have you had those?"

Stan's question brought Kyle back to the matter at hand, and along with it came the realization that his friend was openly gaping at his legs. He couldn't help but squirm—he wasn't used to this.

"Quit staring, Stan," he muttered.

"Oh—shit, sorry," his friend immediately stuttered, quickly bringing his eyes back up to Kyle's face with an appropriately sheepish expression. "Just…not used to…seriously though, where'd you get those?"

"I've had these for, like, a year now," the Jewish boy replied. "I just usually wear them at home. It, uh—doesn't look too weird, does it?"

"No, definitely not! It looks good!"

"Yeah, you look great!" Kenny piped up from behind the stubborn piece of shit that was Cartman. "Good look on you, dude!"

A smile worked its way up onto Kyle's face as he impulsively reached up to touch his hat. "Thanks," he said. "Glad it looks okay."

At that, the smell of gasoline swept over them all, and the bus came creaking up to park in front of them. As the doors opened, Kenny swept in front of them all and leapt in, taking the steps two at a time, and Stan and Kyle were soon to follow.

He didn't bother to look behind him, because he knew by now what Cartman would do. He'd get in the bus and immediately sink into the front-most seat, staring vacantly out the window to brood or do whatever he'd been doing for the past week. But that wasn't important at the moment. What was important was that Butters was openly gaping at Kyle's choice of attire.

This was going to be an…interesting day.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

"Wow! You look cool today, Kyle!"

On one hand, that was a pretty nice reaction. On the other, Butters' words had made half the bus look up to see what exactly Kyle was wearing, which was something he was a lot less prepared for than he'd told himself.

After a minute of standing frozen in the aisle and trying not to meet anyone's eyes, he threw out a "thanks, Butters" as he seated himself just behind the boy in question. Stan took up the seat beside him, pulling out his phone and bringing up a social media app, but clearly too distracted by the events unfolding to do much of anything.

As Kyle got comfortable and the bus kicked into motion again, Butters turned around in his seat and leaned over to face him. "Where'd you get those?" he asked. "They sure look nifty!"

"Um…" Heat was rushing to his face now, even though he knew Butters was too pure of heart to be judging him. "I don't know, Target I think?"

"Well, I like them," the blonde boy said cheerily. "They suit you!"

With that, he turned back around in his place as if nothing about the conversation had been weird. Who knew—maybe he didn't think it was. Butters had always been a more pure-hearted, accepting individual, if a little naïve. Maybe Kyle was reading too much into things because of how new this felt. Either way, he couldn't help but grin at his friend's approval.

As his attention faded from Butters, he found himself looking over at Stan's screen to see if he'd gotten around to doing anything. However, the social media app was no longer pulled up—Stan had moved on to an article titled something like "supporting my friend wearing feminine clothes".

"Dude."

Stan jolted visibly, the phone getting airtime for a minute as it nearly flew from his hands. Kyle couldn't help but smirk.

"You could just…ask. You know?"

"Uh…"

For a minute, Stan's mouth worked soundlessly like a fish, but he finally let out a huge sigh and replied, "I know. It's just—I've been asking you a lot of stuff lately. I don't want to—I don't know, make you uncomfortable."

"I mean—I appreciate that, but it's no big deal. If anything, I kind of like that you ask me things." As he spoke, Kyle found his hands subconsciously picking at the fabric of his leggings. "It means you want to support me. And that's great."

"…okay," his friend affirmed after a moment of silence. "Okay. Good. Cool. So…today…how can I—"

"Just treat it like any other day, Stan," Kyle interjected. "It's just another day. I just happen to be wearing leggings. But if you really want to do something—you can stick by me, I guess? Moral support and all that. But only if you want."

At this, Stan set his phone aside and turned his body to face his friend. "If I want?" he echoed incredulously. "Of course I want! I'm your best friend, what kind of best friend would I be if I didn't support you?"

A wide grin spread across Kyle's face.

"…thanks, dude."

* * *

As the day stretched on, Kyle found himself increasingly grateful that he'd asked for Stan to stick with him that day.

Obviously Butters wasn't the only one who noticed Kyle's change in attire. The minute they got off the bus and filed into the school, he could almost feel everyone's eyes boring into him. For a minute his mind brought up the ridiculous idea that maybe he could sprint back home and change, but he shook it off quickly. He wanted to wear leggings. Who cared what other people thought? They were his clothes, not theirs.

First period was interesting. A few boys had approached Kyle and asked him, point blank, why he was wearing "girl's clothes", and for a second he had forgotten how to speak English, but a quick glance at Stan's encouraging face and he was able to make it clear that they WEREN'T girl's clothes, they were HIS clothes, so why did they care?

Thankfully, after the first few class periods most of his classmates had acclimated to Kyle's wardrobe, although he could tell they were still fairly confused. Even a few of the teachers had approached him during the day and asked him various questions like "how are you", "are you doing okay", "if you ever need to talk with someone I'm here", etc., etc. Thankfully, after the first few teachers had done this Kenny had made a habit of swooping in, loudly complimenting Kyle's outfit, and whisking him off to see some non-existent fight or website or something.

There were a few reactions that, although they weren't necessarily jarring, weren't what Kyle had anticipated. At one point, Wendy had approached him and, her gaze almost glued to the floor, said that she loved his leggings and that she was really happy and inspired that he felt brave enough to wear them. It had been—strange, to say the least. Kyle had barely gotten an opportunity to thank her before she'd gone off to chat with some of her friends.

Maybe he'd ask Stan about that later.

At least school was almost over. There were two periods left until they were allowed to leave and either drown in homework or drown in TV until they passed out. Thank goodness. To Kyle, the day had seemed to drag on forever.

Just as he thought this, a figure appeared in his peripheral vision. Perfect. He'd thought he'd be able to switch out some books in his locker and make it to class before anyone else talked to him. Not that it was really a problem anymore—it was just that explaining over and over was pretty emotionally draining after a while. Sighing, he slammed his locker shut and turned to face the person approaching him.

"Are you gay?"

-now that hadn't been a question he'd been asked yet.

Craig didn't seem put off by Kyle's hesitance to answer—but then again, he was Craig. Not much deterred him. He hadn't seem particularly perturbed by this the whole day, to the point where Kyle wondered if he even cared enough. But Craig had been one of the few people Kyle had been prepared to talk to, should they approach him, mostly because he knew all too well that Craig was well-acquainted with all things LGBT.

"Am I gay?" he repeated.

"Yeah. Are you gay."

Now that he'd had a few seconds to absorb the question, it was all Kyle could do to keep from laughing. Of all questions to ask—

Oh, Craig. If you only knew how hilariously ironic that question was.

"No, dude," he answered at last. "Not gay. Sorry to disappoint. What made you think that?"

"The leggings," Craig deadpanned. "Duh. Tweek wears leggings sometimes, too. But only at home."

Tweek wore leggings? That was cool.

"Are you a boy?"

…yet another question no one had asked yet.

Dammit, Craig.

He didn't want to lie, necessarily. He was ready to come out. Otherwise he wouldn't have chosen this particular attire today. It's just that he wasn't sure if he wanted it to be on someone else's terms. Or maybe it was just that he wasn't prepared for someone to ask. He didn't know WHAT he wanted half the time these days.

"Well?"

…what the hell. Why not.

"Nope."

After a moment, Craig nodded. "Okay. Cool. Are you a girl?"

Definitely not. "No way."

"Nonbinary, then."

Kyle couldn't help it—he laughed a little. "Yep. You got me. Just don't go telling everyone yet."

"Of course. That would not be cool. So you ARE kinda gay."

That was news to Kyle. "Um…what?"

Craig spun a bit on his heel in order to lean back against the lockers, his gaze locked on the ceiling lights. "You're not a boy. You're not a girl," he rationalized. "Therefore no matter who you go for, you're both gay and not gay. You're Schrodinger's gay."

It took Kyle a moment for this to sink in before a few laughs burst free. That was…kind of true, wasn't it? Schrodinger's gay. He liked that.

"Heh. I guess you're right," he sighed. "I guess that does make me kinda gay, huh. I never thought about that before." As he spoke, he swung his backpack up from the floor onto his shoulder, and as he did so it came to his attention that the hallway was pretty empty. "Crap. I should get to class."

"Me too." With that, Craig turned around and began walking the other way, and Kyle did the same.

That conversation had gone a lot better than expected. Even though he knew Craig would probably be fine with whatever Kyle was, he was still inexplicably relieved. Plus, he now had something else he could call himself on occasion. Schrodinger's gay. He was definitely using that more often.

The day had been a success. He'd worn what he wanted to wear, gotten the general support of some friends, and had officially come out to at least one more person. That felt—great. HE felt great. Nothing, not even the weirdly concerned teachers or the seething Cartman, was going to ruin this for him.

He was nonbinary, and no one had to like it for it to be true.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

"Are we inviting any of the girls?"

"I don't see a reason why not. You know, Wendy was surprisingly cool with it."

It had been Kenny's idea to meet up in person that weekend and discuss the final details of the upcoming party. It was only a week away, and although most of the specifics had been nailed out via texts, phone calls and notes passed during classes, there were still a few things that needed adjustments before invites went out.

Although Kenny's enthusiasm had been a bit—jarring—to Kyle at first, now that he had gotten used to it he found himself pretty grateful for his help in this whole process. On his own, Kyle was normally fairly good at planning events, but something as huge as this was something he wasn't sure he could have handled on his own. Hell, Kenny was even pitching in his own money for supplies—balloons, food, and even the coffee the two were drinking at the moment.

Granted, the coffee was to make up for the fact that Kenny had called at five in the morning to plan their meet-up, but still, coffee was coffee.

"I knew she was acting different when you wore leggings to school," Kenny mused, marking the list in front of him with a bold check mark. "Not to mention that Stan would be pissed if we didn't invite his girlfriend. So Wendy's a yes. How 'bout Bebe?"

That one required more caffeine to properly consider, and Kyle quickly provided this with another swig of his coffee. Thankfully, Kenny had managed to ensure that their drinks weren't laced with whatever-the-hell kind of shit the Tweaks put in their coffee. Otherwise Kyle would have insisted that their meeting place be elsewhere.

"Bebe…I mean, I guess she'd be okay," he consented after a moment of thought. "Are there any other girls you think we should invite?"

Immediately a sly look crossed Kenny's face. "Well—"

"Dude, gross."

"Okay, fine!" the blond boy said, raising his hands in resignation. "Your party, your rules. No more girls if you don't want."

With that, Kenny bent down over the list again and began scribbling out a substantial number of names. Typical. As he worked, Kyle took another sip of coffee and let his mind wander elsewhere, looking out the windows of the shop. The sun had risen, but most of the sky was still streaked with various shades of orange. A few morning joggers were making their rounds, and across the way he could see Mrs. Marsh making her way down the street.

"Hey, Kenny?"

"Mmph?"

"Have I thanked you yet?"

Kenny set down the pencil, apparently done fixing the list of names. "For what?"

"You know—" For a minute, Kyle gestured vaguely in his friend's direction. "—for—all this. Everything. Being so great about this whole thing."

It could have been his imagination, but for a moment he swore his friend's expression turned sheepish.

"You don't have to thank me for anything, man," he denied. "I just wanted to—I think it's cool that you know this about yourself."

"Yeah, and I appreciate that, but—helping me organize a whole party?" Kyle elaborated. "That's…that's a lot. That's huge."

"Well, uh—"

It hadn't been his imagination. Kenny definitely looked sheepish now. He looked as if he wanted to pull his hood back up over his head and hide himself.

"It's, um…" he mumbled, "…I guess it's because, uh…"

It was then that a suspicion shot through Kyle's mind. Was Kenny—no way. Was he—was he not a boy either? Was that it? Was the reason he was so hyped about Kyle's exit from the closet because he was going to do it too?

Kenny didn't finish his thought immediately, instead seemingly taking a minute to put together a logical sentence. At last he leaned back into his chair and said, "Remember…that game we played when we were in elementary school? That Stick of Truth game?"

"Of course."

"And I was, you know, Princess Kenny?"

Oh boy. "Yeah, dude. I remember that."

"That was because—I mean, I'm not trans. I know that. I know I'm not. But," here he finally made direct eye contact again, "when we were playing that game, I thought I might be. I was questioning, I guess."

That made…a lot of sense. No one had really questioned it at the time, just assuming it was Kenny being Kenny, but Kyle had always taken more note of the fact that Kenny was roleplaying as a girl. Maybe it was just because Kyle was closeted at the time, but he could definitely tell that something in Kenny's princess alter ego was more solid than everyone else's.

"You're cis?" he asked anyway, just to be sure.

"Oh yeah, I'm definitely cis," Kenny confirmed. "I've mulled over this for years, I know I'm cis by now. I just—I know what it's like to question yourself, you know? I know how that is. So I guess I'm hyped for you because I can relate."

That explained a lot of things. When Kyle had come out, he'd figured Kenny would be enthusiastic, but not on this scale. At least now he knew why. And oddly enough, hearing it said out loud, knowing that someone else had felt the same way he had, was kind of comforting.

"That's cool," he said after a moment. "It's nice knowing I wasn't the only one. And all this stuff you're doing for me is awesome." As an afterthought, he added, "Your highness."

"Up yours, Kyle."

* * *

The rest of the morning went smoothly and without further revelation. A guest list was finalized, makeshift cards were made, food was planned. As the coffee shop began to fill, the conversation turned from planning to exactly how many skirts Kenny owned to guessing who in their class was into who.

"Cartman?"

"Come on, I don't want to talk about him. He's a jackass, I can't tell who the hell he's into, let's move on."

"Fair enough."

"What about Stan?"

"Are you kidding? He's straight. I've never seen him into anybody but Wendy, he's gotta be straight."

"I don't know," Kyle mused. "I always thought he mjght be bisexual."

"Really? Has he had any man crushes?"

"I don't know, but there was a point when I thought he might be into me."

"Let's ask—hey, Tweek!"

The twitchy blond, who had just emerged from the back room, let out a strangled squeak in response. They'd seen him come in earlier that morning, but he'd made a beeline for the back and hadn't seemed to notice their presence.

"How's your gaydar? We're trying to figure out if Stan's bi."

"Uh, I-I don't know," Tweek stammered. As per the usual, he seemed like he wanted to do anything but take up the debate, but he approached their table anyway, wringing his apron in one hand as he balanced a jug of coffee in the other. "He—he's dating Wendy, right?"

"Doesn't mean he can't be bi," Kyle countered. "I think he might have had a crush on me back in junior high."

"Really? He likes nonbinary people?"

"Not sure, I just don't think he's only into—girls—wait, what?"

It had taken Kyle a moment to register what Tweek had said. It surprised him, but in retrospect it wasn't that shocking that he'd found out. Given that Kyle had told Craig, point-blank, that he was nonbinary, it made sense that Tweek would know. He supposed it was just that he wasn't used to people knowing yet.

Kenny seemed significantly more taken aback. "Wait, you know? Who told you?"

"Oh God, was I not supposed to say anything?!"

"No, it's okay," Kyle quickly interjected. To Kenny, he said, "I ended up telling Craig."

Immediately the wheels turned, and Kenny let out a long, over-dramatic "oohhhh" that Kyle couldn't help but smirk at. As he did, Tweek seemed to take notice of their empty coffee mugs and began to shakily refill them.

"So, um—congratulations," he said as he did so. "What're your pronouns? Craig said that I should use they/them."

"He did?"

"Wait, your pronouns are they/them?" Kenny said, clearly surprised. "Sorry, dude, I completely forgot to ask."

"No, it's fine. If it was a problem I would have said something," Kyle quickly reassured him. He paused for a moment—he'd rehearsed, over and over in his head, how he'd give someone the lowdown on his pronouns, but he'd never actually said it to people until now—except maybe for Stan. It had been really late, he honestly couldn't remember what the hell he'd said.

"I use he/him, because that's what I'm used to," he explained, "so you can call me that if you want. But I use they/them too. And she/her, every now and then. I'll answer to all of them. You can just use whatever floats your boat."

"S-so…they is okay?"

"Yeah, Tweek. They is great," Kyle affirmed. "Oh, and tell Craig thanks for defaulting to they. That was nice of him."

More than nice—it was awesome. Kenny and Craig—it was amazing how him coming out was making people crawl out of the woodwork. Kenny's gender exploration, Craig knowing enough about the matter to default to they/them pronouns—who knew. The way things were going, he wouldn't be surprised if he found out someone else was trans.

And there was a convenient way he might find out—the party.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

Well. Here we go.

It was a stroke of luck that Kyle's parents had agreed to clear out of the house for the evening and given him the house to himself. It was an even bigger stroke of luck that he and Kenny had managed to smuggle in enough booze to satisfy those who would, inevitably, want to get completely wasted. Kyle himself wasn't much of a drinker, so it probably would have completely slipped his mind if Kenny hadn't consistently reminded him during the past few days.

And by "consistently", he meant constantly. At least four times a day. For several days. Very enthusiastically.

At any rate, now he just hoped things would go smoothly. Spreading the word had gone well, and people's responses to the invites had been overwhelmingly positive, but still—despite everything there was a nagging itch in the back of Kyle's thoughts that something would go wrong. Understandable, given that just this morning he'd dug a trans pride flag out from under his bed and hung it in the living room for all to see.

He paused for a moment from assessing himself in the mirror to check his phone. No new messages, besides Stan's earlier one stating that he would be there. It was five thirty—good. He still had a while.

Setting aside his phone, he turned his attention back to the mirror and resumed applying mascara. He'd opted not to get too fancy—that wasn't really his style, anyway. All he'd done was throw on a slightly nicer t-shirt than usual and touch up his face a little. Maybe if he'd had a pride shirt he would've worn it, but given that he'd only left the closet recently, the only one he owned was several sizes too small by now.

"Shit—hey Kyle?" came Kenny's call from downstairs.

"What?" he yelled.

"We're short on cups!"

"I thought you said we were good on cups this morning!"

"Apparently I was wrong."

Groaning, Kyle tossed the mascara aside, grabbing his hat off the floor with his foot as he exited the bathroom. "How many more do we need?"

"I don't know—another pack should do it? I think? I'm gonna be honest, I stopped by Tweek's parents' place for coffee this morning and I'm still kinda high right now."

Great.

"Oh, come on—you know what? We've got time, I'll head down to the store real quick," he conceded as he headed down the stairs. He was greeted by a mass of balloons littering the floor that matched the flag he'd hung above the TV, along with Kenny (who had apparently found time to paint his face entirely rainbow).

Nodding, Kenny briefly shoved his hand into his hoodie and emerged with his car keys, which he tossed quickly in Kyle's direction. "Okay, awesome. I'm gonna start cracking open beer. We should be set in a few minutes."

"Awesome. If anyone gets here before I get back, let them know I'm coming."

"Got it."

"And DO NOT watch porn while I'm gone."

"Hey, who said I was gonna—okay, fine. I won't. Jackass."

* * *

The next few minutes went by in a blur—the cups were grabbed, the music was turned on, pizzas were ordered and Kyle was slightly more mentally prepared.

Then people started showing up.

In the invites, Kyle and Kenny had decided on simply calling this a coming out party, without much specification beyond that. Between them, they'd figured that word of his reveal would travel, and if it didn't the flag in the living room would do the talking for him. So it was interesting, and a little nerve-wracking, to see people's reactions upon entering and seeing the décor.

Thankfully, Tweek and Craig had showed up first. Tweek had wasted no time informing Kyle that he thought this party had been a great idea, even inspiring (to which Kyle promptly forgot how to speak English). Craig, being Craig, had simply observed the flag, flashed a thumbs up, remarked "Nice makeup," and then made a beeline for the beer. As Kenny joined the two and they struck up a conversation, Kyle couldn't help but notice that Tweek and Craig were defaulting to they/them pronouns when referring to him. Which was—frankly, awesome.

Afterwards, people had started flooding in en masse, and soon the party was in full swing. Among the sea of classmates, a few people stood out to Kyle—Clyde and Bebe were making use of the makeshift dance floor Kenny had made of the backyard, Red appeared to be trying to get high off of balloon helium, and Butters—wait, where was Butters?

"Hey there, Kyle!"

Well, that question answered itself fast.

Kyle turned away from the backyard to see Butters emerging from the kitchen, a slice of pizza in hand and a grin on his face. It appeared he'd just finished talking to Wendy, who was now eyeballing Kyle with an unreadable expression.

"Hey, Butters. What's up?"

"This is a really swell party!" Butters replied, bouncing on his toes a little for emphasis. "I'm glad you had it. It's been a while since we all got to hang out! Oh, and I like your makeup."

"Oh—you noticed that?" Kyle said, subconsciously raising a hand to his face.

"Yeah, and I think it looks really cool!"

"Heh, thanks, dude."

A group of people suddenly beelined for the backyard, and so the two paused to move aside and let them through the back door. When Kyle turned back to Butters, his face had turned a little more serious.

"So…" he said. "You're transgender?"

"Yup."

Butters lifted his slice of pizza and took a bite, seemingly taking a minute to process that response. "You know, that makes sense," he mused, once his mouth was empty. "I did notice a few things, but I figured it wasn't very nice to assume anything."

"Really?" Now Kyle was curious. "Like what?"

"Just some little things," the blonde boy clarified, smiling. "Like how you never changed with us before P.E., and how you got along so much better with the girls than the rest of us guys. Oh, and those neat leggings you wore to school!"

Huh. So Butters had been a little more perceptive than Kyle had given him credit for. That was…pretty cool.

"Oh, and lately people have been talking," Butters continued, taking another quick bite of pizza, "but I didn't know it was true until tonight."

"Wait—talking?"

"Well, you know, saying you weren't a boy and stuff." Here, Butters paused for a moment, apparently confused. "Darn, I can't remember the word they used…"

Uh-oh. "Um…nonbinary?" he offered hopefully.

"Yeah! Yeah, that's it! Nonbinary!"

A huge sigh of relief left Kyle. "Oh, thank God," he breathed. "For a minute there I thought you'd heard people calling me something bad."

A horrified look crossed his friend's face, and he waved his hands about in vehement denial. "Oh, no, no, no! It was mostly good things! Some people were confused, but I didn't hear anybody say anything mean!"

Phew. Silently, Kyle sent several enthusiastic thanks to God.

"And I'm really happy you're ready to tell people this, Kyle," Butters stated, turning to look his friend directly in the eyes. His whole face was practically aglow with secondhand pride. "You're really brave, and really awesome, and I'm happy for you, you know?"

...well, shit. Now emotions were happening. Dammit, Butters.

Kyle had to swallow before he responded. "Wow, uh…thanks, Butters. Really."

"No problem, Kyle!"

Before anything more could be said, a faint buzzing sounded from Butter's pocket, and as he fished out his phone a look of disappointment swept over his face. "Aw, man, I've gotta go home. School tomorrow."

"Oh, uh…yeah, right," Kyle found himself saying, still a bit caught off guard by the fact that Butters had been the first to make feelings happen that night. "I'll see you. Glad you came."

"Yeah—oh, wait!" Without further ado, Kyle found his hand had been taken captive by Butters', and he was led in the direction of the door.

"Whoa, what—"

"Before I go, I brought you something!" Butters explained cheerily. "It's in the car. Come on!"

Once again caught off guard, Kyle found himself complying, following his friend as he headed through the balloon-littered family room and out the open front door. Once outside, Butters released his hand and half-walked, half-skipped towards his car, quickly unlocking it and pulling a lumpy package out of the front seat.

With a grin, he turned back and presented it to the increasingly flabbergasted Kyle. "For you!"

Crap, normally he wasn't one to be mushy but right now Kyle was this close to breaking down.

As he mentally repeated the mantra "don't make this awkward, don't make this awkward" he apprehensively tore through the wrapping paper, and his fingers hit fabric. Immediately the mantra ceased to exist and he found himself involuntarily choking up.

It was such a simple gift—a t-shirt, in his size, with the words "Closets are for Clothes" printed in big letters across the front. A pride shirt. Butters had gotten him a mother****ing pride shirt—and perfect, now tears were happening. Who the hell gave tears permission to happen. He hadn't even had that many beers tonight, why was this hitting him so hard-

"Whoa—gosh, Kyle, are you okay?"

In that moment it felt like all the emotion Kyle had felt since coming out had amplified and then smacked him in the face and now he was hugging Butters when did that happen—

People were okay with him. Really, actually okay with him. People were at his party and nothing had gone wrong. No one had said anything bad—in fact, people were HAPPY for him. Kenny had thrown him a party, Tweek and Craig were calling him "they", and now Butters was giving him a pride shirt—he didn't think he'd been this happy in his entire life.

Things were okay. Things were better than okay.

As usually happens after someone's just gone through a lot of emotions, Kyle suddenly found himself uncomfortably aware that he had just burst into tears and hugged Butters, probably in full view of half the neighborhood. Quickly he pulled away, scrubbing at his face—he could probably head to the bathroom and fix his mascara in a minute.

"Kyle?"

"I'm fine," he said hurriedly, looking up again at Butters' concerned face. "I'm good. I don't know. I just—these past few days—" For a minute he fumbled with his words, mutely waving his hands around, before letting them drop to his sides and stating, "I'm just…really happy."

For a minute Butters didn't say anything, but at last his face melted into a sympathetic smile. "Well, that's good," he said reassuringly, reaching out and patting his friend on the shoulder. "That's really good. And you're ever not happy, you can always call me, okay?"

"Yeah. I mean…" Again, Kyle found himself sending a million thanks upward. "Thanks, Butters. Really. Thank you."

* * *

Well, that was a thing that happened.

After another shower of well-wishes from Butters, Kyle had quickly headed back inside and, head down, hightailed it upstairs and into the bathroom. Thankfully, it looked like no one had noticed his moment of vulnerability—Kenny had apparently pulled some kind of drunk stunt and passed out on the living room carpet, and everyone had been too preoccupied filming the whole thing to notice much else.

Once in the bathroom, Kyle quickly turned his attention to the mirror. Yup, his mascara was history. It hadn't done what it did in movies, where it would leave black lines all the way down to someone's chin—mascara usually didn't do that, and he hadn't cried hard enough besides. However, it had left significant dark rings under and around both eyes, like he'd tried to apply eyeshadow blind or something.

Before he set to work, he took a minute to glance down at the pride shirt, which was still clenched in his hand as if his life depended on it. It was such a simple gesture, getting him a gift, and yet it meant the world to him. He would probably end up wearing it for several weeks on end after tonight.

Reluctantly, he set the shirt aside and grabbed a wad of tissue, beginning to scrub at the smeared mascara. This wouldn't take too long—

"Hey, Kyle? You up here?"

Shit.

There wasn't enough time to shut the door. In a matter of moments, Stan's head had popped around the bathroom doorway and into view. Oh, well. He'd hoped to see Stan tonight, anyway—well, he'd seen him, but given the number of people and the fact that Wendy had come, they hadn't had the chance to talk.

"Hey, dude," he said, stepping fully into the doorway. "I thought I saw you come up here. You doing okay?"

"Oh, yeah," Kyle hurriedly affirmed. "I, uh…talked to Butters. He said some nice shit, everything from this week kinda hit me all at once. Pretty stupid."

"What?" his friend said incredulously. "It's not stupid, dude. It makes sense." Suddenly a realization seemed to hit him and he backpedaled, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Dude is okay, right? I mean, I can call you that?"

At that, Kyle couldn't help but smirk. Another think to thank God for: Stan's uncanny ability to lift his spirits. Tossing aside the tissue, he replied matter-of-factly, "I call the toaster a dude. You can definitely call me a dude."

"Okay, cool. Just checking."

"You've been doing a lot of 'just checking'."

"Well, yeah. Why wouldn't I? You're my best friend, and even if you weren't, it's common decency."

For a moment, Stan paused, leaning against the doorframe as he seemingly collected his words. When he spoke again, his tone was a bit more serious. "Look…when you first told us this, I didn't really know how to react."

Oh boy.

"And of course I didn't have a problem with it," his friend quickly clarified, "I just didn't know how to process. Which is part of why I kept asking questions, looking shit up when I felt like I'd asked you too much. Dammit, Kyle, I made vocab cards."

At that, Kyle's jaw dropped a little. "You're not serious."

"I'm totally serious!" Stan insisted. "Every time I looked up articles or stuff on Tumblr I kept seeing stuff I didn't understand—I didn't even know what AMAB and AFAB meant. I thought it had to do with who you wanted to bang."

Kyle had to stifle laughter at that one.

"But, really," his friend continued, "I was confused. And…maybe a little freaked out, I'll be honest. Just 'cause it was new territory and everything. But I think I get it now. So…just…I mean…I guess I'm trying to say…"

After a moment of fumbling for words, a sudden smile broke out on Stan's face, and he threw his hands up in the air in surrender. "I'm on board. I'm one hundred percent on board. You're nonbinary. I have a nonbinary friend. That's pretty cool."

…dammit, this might just be the best night of Kyle's entire life.

"Wow," he stated. "I…awesome, dude. Thanks. That's awesome."

"Hey, you're the one who's awesome."

With that, a flood of new confidence started flooding through Kyle, from the pit of his stomach through his bones. Who cared if the teachers at school were weirded out. Who cared if Cartman was still being a jerk. It didn't matter. Kenny was on board, Tweek and Craig were on board, Butters was on board, now Stan—he hadn't felt this amazing in years.

"Come on," Stan said, taking a step out of the bathroom and motioning towards the stairway. "Last I saw, Bebe might be trying to kidnap Kenny. We should probably get back down there."

"Oh—speaking of Kenny, he and I were wondering—are you bi?"

"I don't know. I don't think so? I think I'm straight."

"You're sure?"

"Pretty sure, yeah."

"Great. Now I owe Kenny ten bucks. Thanks a lot."


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

If school didn't end soon, Kyle might just pass out at his desk.

Usually he was fairly alert during class—at least, enough to get decent grades—but ever since the borderline-legendary party his sleep schedule had gone to shit. He hadn't been able to fall asleep any earlier than three AM for a solid week or so, which had resulted in several incidents where he had straight-up faceplanted on his desk from exhaustion. There were visible bruises. It was bullshit.

Stifling yet another earsplitting yawn, Kyle glanced upwards at the clock for the thousandth time. Two minutes until school was out. Thank God. Once he got up from his desk he'd probably have enough energy to make it to the bus before he inevitably fell asleep again.

Out of nowhere, Kyle's pocket buzzed a little too loudly, and he quickly slipped his phone out to shut it off. It turned out to be a text from Wendy. Whatever, he could look at it later—wait, Wendy?

Wendy rarely messaged him, and when she did, it was usually either about school or Stan (because of course). Based on the text, he assumed it was the latter, since it read simply, "Can you meet me on the bleachers after school? I need your advice."

Which meant going home and sleeping would have to wait. Yippee.

As if on cue, the bell trilled, and Kyle sluggishly swept his books into his backpack as his friends made a beeline for the door. The teacher's shouts about homework and due dates were clearly ignored—it was Friday, for crying out loud. No one gave a damn about the homework. Kyle knew for a fact that the majority of them either got wasted or went out of town most weekends. In fact, he was headed to Stan's place pretty soon.

Well…to be fair, Stan wouldn't mind him catching up on sleep while he was there, and he'd probably understand if Kyle was a little later than he'd said.

With that, Kyle slung his backpack over his shoulder and sent a quick "heading over" to Wendy as he trudged towards the door. He had to admit he was curious what she wanted; he'd caught her staring at him several times since he'd come out in a way that he'd been meaning to mention. Maybe once he finished wading through her flurry of Stan-related monologue he'd ask about it.

Brace for annoyance, Kyle. Brace for annoyance.

* * *

"Hey, Wendy. Look, I've got to be somewhere—" (partially true) "—so can we make this quick?"

Surprisingly, Wendy didn't respond immediately. Instead she looked down at her lap, absentmindedly picking at a bit of ice frozen to the bleachers. As Kyle headed up to where she was sitting, he watched her face. She looked…apprehensive.

"Thanks for coming, Kyle," she said at last, as Kyle took a seat beside her. "I didn't really know who else to ask about this."

Now it was Kyle's turn to be apprehensive. "Uh…okay. What's up?"

Again, Wendy didn't answer right away. She seemed to be trying to look anywhere but directly at him, her eyes bouncing from the football field to the building clouds to the tips of her shoes.

Easing his backpack off his back, he muttered, "Fine, Wendy, I'll bite. What did Stan do this time?"

Thankfully, this seemed to help ease the tension, since Wendy laughed a little at the question. "No, no, it's not that," she reassured him, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment before darting back to her hands again. After another awkward moment of silence, determination flooded her face, and although she still didn't look at him directly, she seemed less anxious.

Finally, with a deep breath, she said slowly, "Do you remember, back in elementary school…when Cartman pretended to be transgender to get his own bathroom?"

Oh, shit. This was leading into something way more serious than Kyle had mentally prepared for.

"Yeah, I remember," he affirmed, cringing at the memory. "I was so pissed off. I couldn't say anything without outing myself, but _hell_ did I want to kick his ****ing teeth in."

"I can understand that," Wendy murmured. Again, she paused, apparently gathering her words, before suddenly squaring her shoulders and looking Kyle directly in the eyes. It felt like she was trying to pick his soul apart.

"When you came out, I felt inspired by you," she sighed, as if she'd rehearsed the words a thousand times—and who knew, maybe she had. "I didn't know why I did, but I did. And then I remembered what Cartman did, and how I dressed like a boy to try to fight back. It felt like something I had tried to hold back finally came into the light. But when it was all over I hid it away and forgot about it. You coming out…it reminded me."

Suddenly Kyle was no longer tired. In fact, he was more awake than he'd ever felt in a while.

"I've done a lot of thinking, and self-reflecting, and researching," Wendy continued, "but I figured if anyone could help me, it would be you." Shifting where she sat, she turned so her whole body faced him. "Kyle, am I…am I transgender?"

Oh boy.

To say she'd (he'd? they'd?) dropped a bombshell on him would be an understatement. He remembered that few weeks where Wendy had dressed in more masculine clothes specifically to expose Cartman, but he'd had no idea there might be something more personal fueling it. And apparently, neither had she. Also—he'd inspired her? That was simultaneously weird and humbling to think about.

Hmm…if his younger self had asked him that question, what would he say?

That was all it took to make the words flow.

"You know, I think that's something only you can figure out," he began. "I'm not saying I can't help—I can help you understand some of what you're feeling, but when it comes down to the big 'am I trans' question, you're the only one who can say. Like, when I was questioning, I kept thinking it would be easier if someone else could just—give me the answer, but I waited for a long time and no one did. Then I realized…no one could know me better than me. I wanted to be myself. Not what people thought I was or thought I should be. Myself."

Wendy's eyes got wider with every syllable. For a minute, she seemed to be at a loss for words, mulling over everything he'd said. Her eyes dropped, and when they rose to look at him again they were filled with a slow-burning fire.

"Myself," she repeated, as if testing out the word.

"Yeah." Then fresh inspiration came to Kyle's mind. "Another question I asked—let me ask you, are you a girl?"

The pause was all the answer he needed. Wendy's brows furrowed, and the fire in her eyes dimmed the tiniest bit. Finally she replied, "I…don't think so. Maybe sometimes, but not always."

"Then you're probably trans. Oh, and um, if you're only a girl sometimes and not other times, maybe look up genderfluidity, that might—"

He was interrupted by his phone buzzing, which yanked him back to the world around him and made the both of them jump a little. Mumbling an apology, he pulled it out once again and his eyes immediately widened—not only had they been out here for almost twenty minutes, but Stan had just sent a text that read, "dude where are you the avengers in on".

"It's Stan. I should go," he said quickly, rising and yanking his backpack back over one shoulder. "But hey, if you have any questions you need help with, I have some sites I can send you. Vocab. Stuff like that."

It took a moment, but Wendy's gaze followed him up as he stood, and the look on her face was filled with so much gratitude that it unnerved him. They'd never been friends, exactly; they'd gone to school together, and they knew each other through Stan's crush on her, but beyond that they hadn't had much meaningful one-on-one time. But knowing where she was mentally, and knowing how that felt…it did feel good, knowing there was some LGBT solidarity there.

"Thank you, Kyle."

"No problem. Welcome to the club."

Man, Stan was gonna have an aneurism.

* * *

It was a whirlwind of a night. Kyle had made a beeline for the coffeemaker the minute he stepped into Stan's house. One movie turned to four, two video games turned to eight, one drink turned to three, and somehow they had ended up in Stan's bathroom cutting each other's hair.

Kyle'd been letting his hair go lately. Besides shaving what little stubble he was able to grow, he'd let his ginger mop go wild, but now it was becoming reminiscent of the "Jewfro" he'd had in grade school. And no way in hell was he going back to that. Besides, he'd spent most of the last movie they'd watched toying with it, so much so that Stan had blurted "Just tie it up or cut it already!"

And now here they were.

As it happened, Kyle was pretty good at cutting hair. He'd been cutting his own for a pretty long time, since middle school or so. He wasn't exactly salon-worthy, but he was decent enough.

"Tilt your head down a little," he instructed Stan, who was currently seated in a plastic lawn chair in front of the mirror with a towel around his shoulders. "Just gotta fix the back and you're done."

"Not too short," his friend blurted for roughly the millionth time.

"Say that again and I shave a dick in the back."

With that, Kyle ran the clippers up the back of Stan's head a few times more, and a few lingering bits of raven hair fell and stuck in the towel. "Okay, it's done," he announced, switching off the razor and setting it aside. "Take a look."

Stan rose from the chair and did a few quick one-eighties in front of the mirror, running his hands through the back to make sure Kyle hadn't done anything sketchy. Apparently satisfied, he grinned and declared, "Damn, you weren't kidding. You are good at this."

"Yeah, I live to serve."

Flicking black hair out of the clippers, Kyle quickly swept up the towel and dumped its contents into the tub. Now was his turn. He hadn't put much thought into his own hair—what did he want? Should he shave it all off? No, his mom would murder him. Maybe a bob. What could he pull off, what could he pull off…

An undercut, maybe? That would be fun. And versatile, if he did it right.

"Do you have a hair tie anywhere?" he asked, preemptively putting a new guard on the clippers.

"I don't know, maybe? I need to look."

 _Bzzzz._

His phone again. He must be popular today.

Yanking his phone out of his pocket, he quickly turned it on and—oh, it was Wendy again. This could go a few ways. He hoped she didn't need any websites right then. Of course he'd send her some if she needed, but he was in the middle of something. He'd rather not have to dodge questions from Stan that might get Wendy outed. Shoving aside all these thoughts, he opened the text and couldn't help but immediately grin.

"Hi Kyle. I want to thank you again for helping me out today. I think I'm genderfluid! Pronouns are she/her and they/them. Maybe he/him later? Not sure yet."

…well damn, that was fast.

If there was one thing Kyle liked about Wendy, it was that she…they...were able to take charge in a situation pretty quickly. It seemed for them, gender was no different; it was a new frontier that they were ready to take by the reigns and solve. Good for them.

Glancing behind him to make sure Stan wasn't watching, he texted back, "That's awesome! Glad I could help."

And then, as an afterthought…

"…Wendyl."

At that moment, Stan emerged from under the sink with a hair tie, and Kyle deftly pulled back the topmost part of his hair. An undercut would be a welcome new look to kick off whatever-the-hell kind of new chapter was starting up in his life.

"Here's to changes," he murmured, as he flipped on the clippers once more.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

The norm shifts so easily.

It had only been three weeks now since the party, and finally Kyle's gender was neatly slotted into South Park's list of truths. The sky was blue, there was snow on the ground, Kyle was nonbinary, water was wet. It was just common knowledge now.

It was beyond refreshing to be able to leave the house wearing whatever the hell he liked, to pass friends in the halls and hear all sorts of pronouns being used for him, to look at his past reservations about coming out and know for a FACT that his fears had been unjustified. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted off his chest—no, it felt like the weight had never even been there.

Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. There was still a glimmer of apprehensive anger festering in his gut, surging every now and then at the bus stop or in class. And at this point, it was getting physically painful to deal with. Nothing he couldn't handle for the time being, of course, but still, there were times he wished he could physically claw it out of him.

Eric Cartman.

It had been nearly a month since he'd come out, and the fatass STILL hadn't spoken a word to him. Originally, Kyle had thought his enemy was just being a transphobic asshole, but if that was the case he would have said or done something by now. That was what troubled Kyle the most; Cartman was planning some grand humiliating scheme, he HAD to be. Right?

Whatever he was planning, Kyle wished he would just get it over with.

The bus stop, as usual, was the worst. At the moment, Stan and Kenny were arguing over something—sports or who was hotter or something—but Kyle wasn't paying attention. His discomfort was bubbling up again, and he couldn't help but glare a little at its source; the anti-Semitic asshole with his hands buried deep in his pockets and an intense, far-off look in his beady eyes.

Maybe if he punched Cartman in the face…

"—and so Clyde ended up with detention."

"What? Why?"

"Some teacher found a Playboy in his backpack. You should've heard her screaming at him."

"The hell? How did I miss this?"

"You were at—it was the day you went to the—"

"So your pronouns are they/them now."

All conversation stopped immediately. An unfamiliar mix of anger and something unclear surged in Kyle's chest as he turned to stare at Cartman, who now looked as if he'd like to be somewhere else. He could feel Stan and Kenny's gazes boring into the two of them from behind.

Kyle could feel his tongue working, trying to form words, but none came. The fatass wouldn't turn and look at him, instead lifting a hand from his pocket and pulling his scarf up closer to his mouth.

Really?

 _Really?!_

Finally his vocal chords decided to function properly. "…what?"

Cartman's brows furrowed, and he suddenly became very interested in the snow by his boots. Through his scarf, he mumbled, "You heard me."

What the **** was happening right now. Involuntarily, Kyle's hands curled into tight fists, his fingernails digging harshly into his palms. Behind him, he swore he could hear Kenny muttering, "Here we go."

"Are you…are you kidding me?" he stammered out. "What the hell?!"

Stan's voice piped up in the background. "Uh, Kyle—"

"You can't do that!" Kyle found he'd fully turned to face Cartman now. "You can't just ignore me for weeks and then act like you're—"

"Kyle, maybe he means it."

At that, he turned his head until he could see Stan, who looked just about as confused as he was at the moment.

"What?" he deadpanned. "Of course he doesn't mean it! He just wants to—"

"I know!" Stan hurriedly backpedaled, raising his hands in surrender. "I know, he's an asshole, but—I mean, at least he's asking?" After a minute of fumbling for further explanation, he sighed in an exasperated way, rubbing tiredly at his eyelids. "I don't know."

"But he can't—he can't just start—"

Whatever argument he had trailed off helplessly. He hated this. God, he hated this. He hated being a sitting duck waiting around for whatever Cartman had planned. He hated not knowing. He hated this anger twisting around in his intestines.

He hated this, he hated this, he hated this—

"Why have you been ignoring me?" he spat.

No reply.

"Huh?" he continued harshly. "If you're SUDDENLY in a talking mood, why don't you tell me that?"

No reply.

The thick tension in the air was suddenly broken by the smell of gas and the squealing of tires on the pavement. The bus was here, thank God. As if a spell was broken, Stan jolted suddenly and made a beeline for the doors, Kenny close behind him.

For a minute, Kyle made no move to follow. He was still stuck glaring at Cartman, waves of anger washing over him as his thoughts tangled into a knotted mess. Cartman was the first to move, his eyes on his shoes as he turned and trudged towards the bus.

If Kyle was honest with himself, he wasn't just angry or confused. No, this whole character shift in his enemy was kind of freaking him out.

With an effort, he broke out of his frozen stance and got in the bus himself. As usual, Cartman had taken the front row and was now staring vacantly at nothing in particular. But suddenly something stood out—his eyebrows were furrowed, not angrily, but almost like he was distressed.

So for some ungodly reason, Kyle decided to hiss a final statement to the fatass.

"Call me whatever you want," he muttered. "Just get your shit together."

* * *

Thankfully, there were no further uncomfortable interactions for the rest of the day. Cartman had gone straight back to doing what he'd been doing for the past month—keeping the hell out of Kyle's way. And for the moment, that was just how Kyle wanted it.

However, their conversation—argument? Fight?—from that morning kept replaying itself through his head every so often during the day. Why the hell would Cartman ask about Kyle's pronouns? He didn't actually care about misgendering him, obviously. So why ask? Was he planning to turn them into some kind of elaborate, unspoken insult? Was he going to try to get them taken out of the dictionary? He'd always been creative with his plans to get under Kyle's skin, so what was he doing this time?

What the **** was he DOING this time?

Fortunately, once gym rolled around he'd disappearing altogether. Skipping class, probably. Whatever—all the better for Kyle.

He changed in the bathroom stalls for gym for obvious reasons—no way in hell was he letting a bunch of boys ogle at him and everything he hated about his body. No, as usual he'd dragged his gym bag into a stall and started getting changed. What were they doing today, basketball? That would be nice.

Now for the "fun" part. Packing away his jeans, he began rifling through his bag for a sports bra. Top surgery was still a long time and a lot of money away, and he knew from personal experience that exercising in a binder was hell on earth. Last time he'd done that, he'd had to take several days off school before he could take a deep breath without wincing.

Where the hell was the sports bra? He knew he'd packed one this morning. Right? He'd eaten breakfast, tossed his gym clothes into his bag, then his mom had yelled that he was late and he'd—

—and he'd bolted out the door before he had a chance to pack it.

Shit.

Letting out a long groan, he ran his hands unconsciously through his hair. Okay—what was he going to do? He could ask to be excused from gym today—no, too awkward. No way was he going into the semantics of binding with any of the teachers here. He could risk exercising in his binder and hope for the best, but then he'd be risking a particularly painful next few days. So that wasn't really an option, either. And there was no one at home right then to bring him a sports bra.

Shit, shit, shit—there had to be a way to fix this.

Wait! Wendyl! Maybe they had an extra. They'd done their research on binding—Kyle had helped with that—even done it a few times. They'd understand if Kyle asked. Besides, Wendyl did seem the type to bring extra clothes. Worth a shot.

With that, Kyle peeked through the crack by the door, checking to see if anyone was still in the locker room besides him. He'd heard most of them head into the gym a few minutes ago, but he really didn't want to have to follow and make his situation clear to everyone in the class.

Thank God Cartman was ditching.

"Kyle? You still in here? Gym's starting."

Also, thank God for Stan.

"Yeah, I'm here," he called over the door. "Hey, um—I kind of—need help with something."

There was a pause during which he could practically hear Stan going pale. "Uh…okay? With—with what?"

Here we go. "I need you to go ask Wendyl—" Wait, were they out yet? Crap. "—if Wendy has a spare sports bra I can borrow."

Another pause. "A sports bra?"

"Yeah."

"Dude, why do you need a sports bra?"

Here we go. Absentmindedly, he started picking at his nails. "Because, um, you're not supposed to exercise in a binder, and I kind of…forgot to pack a sports bra this morning."

"A—a what? A binder?"

"Yeah…?"

"What's a binder?"

Geez, you'd think in all the research he'd done Stan would know what a binder was. "It's a…a thing that compresses your chest. That I can't exercise in. So if you could just go ask Wendy about a sports bra I'd really appreciate it."

It seemed the gears still weren't turning in Stan's head. "It…compresses…"

Oh, for the love of—

"The BOOBS, Stan. It COMPRESSES—the BOOBS. Okay?"

There was a moment of silence past the stall door.

"…oh."

There it was.

"OH."

My God. He loved Stan, but this was getting old. "Dude, can you please just—"

"YUP. You got it, be right back!"

With that, there was the sound of running feet and the loud banging of locker room door slamming shut. As soon as it did, he abandoned all subterfuge and banged his forehead against the wall in frustration.

Welp, that had to have been the most awkward conversation he'd ever had in his entire life.

* * *

It turned out Wendyl hadn't brought a spare sports bra, but they were more than happy to let Kyle borrow it while they just wore a regular one. He'd thanked them profusely after gym ended, but they'd insisted that they understood and it was the least they could do.

Damn, trans solidarity was the best.

The minute he'd made it home, Kyle had faceplanted on the couch, letting out a muffled groan. Today had been eventful, to say the least. Between the argument at the bus stop and Stan finding out he was AFAB, he was more than ready for the day to end.

Ike had gotten home a little after him. He'd taken one look at his drained sibling and snickered, which earned him an immediate pillow to the face. Now the two were sprawled out in various places in the living room, surrounded by homework, pillows, and a mutual exhaustion.

"And the asshole has the audacity to just go right back to ignoring me!"

"Uh-huh," Ike muttered with disinterest from the armchair.

"This is just so frustrating," Kyle ranted, turning to lie on his stomach on the carpet. "He can't just pretend I don't exist for a solid month and then act like he gives a shit about my pronouns like that. What is his problem?!"

Ike let out a deep, exasperated sigh, grabbing for the remote and boredly switching on the TV. "Just screw each other already."

"I hate you."

"It's mutual."

Groaning, Kyle turned his head to faceplant into the rug. He could vaguely hear his brother flipping idly through the channels, finally stopping on what sounded like a football game.

"I just wish he'd hurry up and do it."

Vaguely, he could hear Ike suppressing a smirk. "Do what? Screw you?"

"What? God, no!" he spluttered indignantly. Once again, he flopped over onto his back, absentmindedly watching the ceiling fan rotate. "He's planning something, I know he is. But it's been a MONTH. I just want it over with."

"Maybe he's not planning anything this time."

Now it was Kyle's turn to smirk. "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious."

At that, he turned to observe his brother, who now had a somewhat contemplative look on his face. Small waves of confusion began to wash over his mind. The fact that Ike seemed to be seriously considering the idea unnerved him. Was it possible? Was Cartman not plotting something this time?

"That's…but that's what he does," he said, fumbling with his words as he thought over the possibility. "I know him. He plots shit, you think for ONCE maybe he's genuine, and then the second you put your guard down, he does it and suddenly you're on trial for murder in Guatemala or something."

"Huh." Readjusting in the armchair, Ike set aside the remote and turned his full attention to the game. "I don't know, dude. He's your nemesis, not mine."

It seemed he'd gotten bored of the debate, and so Kyle went silent, his own brand-new debate going into motion in his head. Maybe it was possible that Cartman's question that morning had been genuine. Stan had certainly seemed to think so, and now Ike was implying the same thing.

So either the fatass was plotting something big and horrible, or Kyle had actually broken him by coming out. But neither one made sense.

What was going on?

 _What was going on?!_


End file.
